


The Corpse Hall

by AlphaAquilae



Series: Slice of Life [3]
Category: Hyper Light Drifter
Genre: Acts of Kindness, Chronic Illness, Headcanon, Mute Drifter, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 07:59:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18245687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaAquilae/pseuds/AlphaAquilae
Summary: There's a saying that Anubis doesn't let anyone die that hasn't served their purpose yet. That the sickness makes them suffer until they've played their part.When the Drifter decides to take a detour into the depths of North's structures, they find out just how much truth that sentence carries.





	The Corpse Hall

The north was an exception to Drifter’s general dislike of the world around them. The mountains carried within them something that busies the mind, makes their thoughts wander. Could be called a charming place, too, if it wasn’t for the cultists, the sacrificial altars, the screams of the victims leaking through the walls.  
Charming, they think, walking down crumbling stairs and forgotten hallways. Charming, how the corpses leaned against the walls, spears and swords whispering stories of their demise. They kept walking even as the darkness bloomed, enveloping all their senses. The Drifter was unsure of what they expect to find in this uncharted space. But the modules could hardly be stumbled upon anywhere anyone else had already bothered to look. So, they ignored all the red flags, all the threats and warning signs, picking their beeping bot out of the air to tuck it beneath their twin capes.  
Sometimes, a drifter must follow desperation, even against their better judgement.

The light of their sword barely illuminated their immediate surroundings. Beyond that, the Drifter could only speculate what the darkness obscured. Judging by the way their steps echoed all around them, they must be traversing quite a tall and long corridor. The ruined places of worship much closer to the surface came to mind, though it was likely they would be dwarfed by the size of this place. Faith must’ve run in vulture blood as deeply as the mountain’s structures.  
Another set of stairs lead the Drifter further and further into the great unknown. So far that their common sense began to gain purchase in their mind once more, fervently arguing their curiosity. No matter, they thought, if push came to shove, they could still teleport back to the surface at any moment. Not like there’s much to live off of around here, anyway.

After minutes upon minutes of walking, the Drifter stumbled upon an archway, the only architecture to break the monotony of the hallway. They clutched their weapon tighter, uncertainty urging them to be cautious. Breath halted, standing perfectly still, they let their senses seek… well, anything at all.  
But nothing. Dead quiet. The same cold, wet smell. Darkness. Their muscles slowly relaxed, but their senses remained sharp. A few steps further, they come to a sudden halt.  
Instead of stone bricks, their foot landed upon carpet. Old, frazzled, half-eaten, but it was fabric. Intrigue lead their legs, setting the Drifter to press further into the unknown room.  
Some moments later, stairs appeared before them, nothing special, though this time they lead them upwards. They stretched out their sword to light their way, feeling their skin tingle with tension. Slowly they ascended, careful not to—  
Their bot burst out from underneath the Drifter capes. If they had a voice they’d shriek, their second hand also grabbing onto their sword raised high.  
They remained in their intimidated stasis, left without a choice until their blood cooled. They released an exasperated huff, and with their senses coming to, they noticed their bot focusing on something ahead, shining its light on a small, rectangular object, beeping incessantly. Drifter approached, mindful not to let their guard down, still.  
Before them lay a small machine, about the size of their palm. Huh. Another bot. An old model, very rare, certainly of librarian design and origin. Its two-tone shell showed heavy weathering and major damage… it was likely that no merchant would want this without some repairs. It wasn’t responding to stimulus, either. The humidity of this place must’ve tarnished it beyond functionality, but… maybe there was hope.  
Drifter commanded their own companion to run a quick scan of its older sibling, meanwhile producing a small bundle from beneath their capes which they unrolled on the surface next to the broken bot. Inside rested a handful of maintenance tools and replacement parts. A bot-less drifter is a useless drifter, taking care of their companion is paramount for their journeys.  
With a diagnose from their little helper, the Drifter rushed to work on the machine, unable to wait until later to see if this little gizmo was worth the effort. They replaced circuits, fastened some loosened nuts, gave the thing a thorough dusting… and after some effort and patience, they closed the hull of their patient, asking their bot to kick-start it.

The Drifter waited and waited, all attention focused on the still machine before them. And— lo and behold, some of its lights flickered to life, on and off, blinking wildly in an attempt to calibrate itself. With a small smile hidden well beneath their mask, the Drifter watched as it slowly rose into the air, rotating around its center to figure out that up is up and down is down. They liked watching this process, it had something, well, rewarding to it. Endearing, even. Their own bot evidently felt the same, floating in circles, eagerly observing its sibling’s acrobatic antics.

Suddenly, it stopped dead in its tracks, though its lights flickered on in a lightshow. A cloud of static and glitches blinked into existence, an attempt to display a holograph. The rapidly fluctuating colors settled for fuchsia, and gradually, letters began to take shape.

‘W.ho-- a Are, yo u ?”,.

The Drifter froze. That was not something a machine would ask.  
They were faced with an organic question.  
And its originator had to be close.

,,Do no-t b,e afraid--. ! con fl i .ct -is Not.t what I see k,. ‘ “

Drifter’s hand rested snugly against one of their grenades. There it remained, hesitant. Causing a scuffle here could end in death for either the Drifter or the unidentified enemy. But, on the other hand, they’ve been reckless until this point. Might as well complete the motion.  
They ping a single message to the other bot.  
Show yourself.

They wait with bated breath, eyes frantically scanning for movement among the inky shadows. The Drifter flinched when a large, bony hand slipped underneath the old bot, fingers lightly curled as if to protectively envelop the machine. It drew back slowly, the companion following its movement. Heavy steps announce movement beyond the Drifter’s vision, and they hopped back, the light of their bot growing brighter.  
A large shape came into view.

In the suffocating dark, neither their bot nor their sword was strong enough to illuminate the creature’s face to yield details, but the blue skin was unmistakable… as was the pink trickling over their chin, down their throat. Tattered, faded clothes and a long coat dragged over the stone floor as the tall stranger stepped closer, mindful to keep a respectful distance. Shock and reverence alike mixed in the Drifter’s blood, swallowing hard, fighting not to let their weakness show in their composure.  
What are you?, read the nonchalant words upon the Drifter’s hologram. The being was easily twice their size, hunched over as they could feel—but not see—its gaze upon them.  
‘,We are,, a-like . . Same Skin n., same cu rs e --,”  
Realization hit home, though the Drifter had already felt it at the edges of their consciousness the moment they spotted the stranger. It remained still while they pondered, seemingly awaiting a reaction. One thing had to be gotten out of the way, though.  
May I have your companion once more? I want to help.  
It didn’t move, still. Pondering as well, the Drifter guessed.  
“ T.reat my ,.friend w ith kin, ,dn.ess,,. please. they are Old--.’ “‘, their HUD spelled  
They give it their word, and the little bot hovered over to them. Drifter shut it down, opened its hull once more, reinserting a cable into its port properly. That’s all it took. The bot came to life once more, and it was quick to zoom back to its owner. Can you speak?, they ask as they watch it happily hover next to the stranger.  
“Many decades ago. A century, perhaps.” The text appeared clearly now, without any interference. “The day my friend left, I was lost to the passage of time. But you. You brought it back.” It moved closer, and the Drifter had to fight their instincts to remain put. Light finally fell upon the stranger’s face, but it was obscured by a low-hanging hood that lay draped over its eyes, down over its neck and closing between its clavicles. It wiped a hand over its bloodied chin. “A gesture most unexpected. I’ve missed them for so very long. Thank you.”  
The Drifter didn’t state their true intent. Better to let sleeping dogs lie, they thought. Nothing to thank for., their own hologram spelled, one hand still clasped around their sword. Who are you? What brought you down here?  
“I do not remember my name. It was long. On a 6 it started, I believe. I yearn to break the curse, to find peace.”  
The Drifter stared at, uh. Six. Everything about Six felt out of place. Its size. Speech. Its age, despite its sickness. They’ve never met anyone else with a number in their name— wait.  
Where are you from?  
“When I emerged, sand blinded me. The sun was merciless. I fled to the mountains on my creator’s behest. She protected me from war. I wish to repay her, though I am too old for this world now. I cannot return to my roots.” Six covered its mouth, a heavy cough shaking their enormous form. “These dungeons I crawl, dying to find the cell. I can feel it, but it is much deeper, still.”  
A shiver ran down their spine. The Drifter was faced with a living relic of the past. A lab-born blueskin from the warring era, from even before the battles that played out so many ages past. They were speechless. Just how long can the sickness stave off death?  
What have you done here all this time?  
“I have kept busy.”  
Six turns around, its bot quickly hovering away as its lights turned on. Drifter’s bot was pinged to follow, and they let it. Together, their lights uncovered something upon a wall at the very back of the room.  
The Drifter’s eyes climbed upwards along the stone bricks to piece together a picture painted whole. A depiction of the sickness, Judgment itself, taking the shape of a soaring vulture, spanned meters in height and width, entirely comprised of magenta… paint?  
Is that paint?  
“No,” the old one clarified, one bony hand wiping their throat. “Not paint.” They turned around to drag their hand across the wall, completing one of the creature’s many tail feathers. Drifter noticed writing all around the painting. Information, memories, notes, hundreds upon hundreds of signs occupying all space on the wall. Some passages are faded, only to end next to a freshly written one. Six must’ve been keeping it all intact, for who knows how long.  
The Drifter admired and reprehended the opus in equal measure. Why dedicate your time to illustrating your curse?  
“For posterity. Someone must remember. I must remember.”  
Even though no one will find your mural down here?  
“You did.”

Touché. It could be argued that unhealthy determination ran in blueskin blood, that no one self-preserving creature would dare take the same venture as the Drifter did… but Six achieved its goal, even though the Drifter might be the last person that should be tasked with keeping the memory of this place alive. Their future wasn’t cursed with the same longevity as Six’s was.  
That I did., they admitted. Have you found anything else in these halls? Anything at all?  
The old one thought for a moment. “Nothing but death and decay. But hope still burns within, I have not despoiled all of this place.”  
Hope. Drifter wondered if they still had that. Certainly didn’t feel like it, but then what else could be keeping them on their feet. What else could’ve pushed them to find this place and reunite an old soul with its friend. They felt a wave of tranquility wash over them, their muscles losing tension for the first time since they set foot in these depths.  
You’ll find what you’re looking for., they displayed on their hologram. Our purpose will catch up to us whether we seek it or not.  
As it was about to speak, Six doubled over, retching up a rush of blood and horrible noises. The Drifter flinched, rushing towards their kind, watching as its stomach and chest contracted wildly. A flash of its magenta-colored interface attracted the Drifter’s attention. “Shed no concern for my sake. I will be well.”  
By Anubis, all blueskins are the same, old or young.

The Drifter decided to remain with Six, who has come to accept the name, until it would be feeling better. Six didn’t mind at all, sharing with the Drifter what it couldn’t have shared with anything but dust and shattered bones for many, many years. It felt strange at first, interacting with it. Wariness eventually gave way to curiosity. Then sympathy. But the Drifter couldn’t linger for long, this place held no significance for their quest. Even if they'd want it to.  
The old one expressed its gratitude once more, a weary but glad smile on its blood-stained lips as it watched the Drifter depart in a flash of light. When darkness returned, Six approaches all that remained of the Drifter: a small bundle... of bot maintenance tools.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for not posting for a while, life's been keeping me busy!! Have something longer as an apology. I hope you enjoy it <33


End file.
